


Le Morte d'Arthur

by bgoodg



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Amnesia, M/M, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-22
Updated: 2011-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-26 10:20:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bgoodg/pseuds/bgoodg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe Robert wants to believe that Arthur sprang, fully formed from some deities head, simply to feel the void in Robert's life. Robert doesn't think that's too much to ask from the universe.</p><p> <br/>Written for a kink meme prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Le Morte d'Arthur

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction and not written for profit. The characters mentioned belong to their respective creators and owners. No defamation is implied

Robert realizes, entirely too late of course, that yelling at three very large men might be a bad idea. But there's a man on the ground with his body being beaten black and blue and Robert won't pretend like he didn't see anything. The three men turn at Robert's shout, menace on their face and intent in their stance.

But Robert is not stupid and quickly gets back into his car, revving the engine and locking the door. He's not sure he'll be able to run the men over, certainly not after knowing how much he spent on the 1965 Corvette, both in purchase and restoration, but he also knows he can't let someone be killed simply because he doesn't want to get a scratch on the midnight dark green paint job.

The one with the crowbar advances, swinging the metal onto the hood of the Corvette with a loud crash. It startles Robert enough to have his foot press on the gas. The car lurches forward and pushes the thug back, sprawling the big man on his ass and convincing his two partners that it's time to leave. Robert stays in the car for a second, a little surprised that his plan, not that he had a plan, actually worked. Eventually Robert realizes he's not doing the man a whole lot of good by staying in his heated leather interior. Making sure that the thugs are actually gone, Robert jumps out of the car and makes his way over to the crumpled frame.

Robert isn't expecting the man to be in a suit. The dress wear is made of tightly woven houndstooth with a crisp white button up underneath. The man had been wearing a tie but now the matching white material is looped around his wrists.

"Are you okay?" Robert asks.

But it's quickly clear that the man won't be responding. His face is black and blue, blood trickling out of his mouth and running down his jaw. Robert thinks about calling 911. He also dismisses the idea. Instead, Robert places his hands under the man's armpits, trying to lift his body from the ground to the car. He ends up dragging him most of the way, expensive round toe loafers getting scuffed as Robert drags him to the car. The Corvette isn't the biggest car and the man is surprisingly lanky, but somehow Robert manages to fit them both inside and not attract any attention.

It's a short drive back to Robert's place. He barely pays attention to the traffic, instead working on how a businessman, someone like himself, could end up in the street with blood on his lips.

***

The condo is unrelentingly modern. There's no warm wood or royal color scheme; everything is smooth and clean.

Somehow, Robert would bet it's the handful of hundreds Robert slips into his hand, Robert convinces the doorman to help him move the unconscious man from his car into the elevator and finally into Robert's condo.

"No need to call anyone, I got it handled," Robert promises.

The doorman looks unsure but closes the door behind him.

Robert's next step is to call a friend of his, a girl he knew in undergrad who went on to med school and has continued her family's private practice. They have lunch or drinks once a month and email regularly to keep in contact. He knows from their last round that Stacey should be in town and a quick text has her heading his way.

"Must be serious Fischer," she states when Robert opens the door. "Especially if you're willing to pay double my house call rate."

Robert doesn't say anything and instead leads Stacey to his slate gray couch which is currently holding an unconscious man in a suit.

She doesn't curse but she does glare at her friend before opening her bag and getting to work.

Robert doesn't stay to watch; blood has always made him a bit queasy. Instead, Robert goes for Irish whiskey and looks out his kitchen windows. The view looks onto the river and it's the roll of the tide and deep blue color that holds his attention.

"He's up," Stacey says after Robert's gone through three fingers worth of fine liquor. "There's quite a few bruises and he has a nasty spot on the back of his head that I could use some ice for."

Robert grabs one of his plum kitchen towels and holds it under the ice machine.

"Did you ask what happened to him?"

"Of course I did," Stacey replies, "and here's where it gets interesting."

***

"Amnesia?" the man repeats. He's sitting on Robert's couch, the cloth full of ice held to the back of his neck.

"That's my diagnosis," Stacey replies. "Probably brought on by blunt force trauma. Have you tried checking your pockets for a wallet or something?"

Robert watches as the man checks his pockets, digging into his jacket to only find a slip of paper and a lone casino die.

"What's on the paper?" Robert asks.

The man hands over the paper, distractedly staring at the die between his fingers. It's a torn strip from a larger piece, _Arthur - 6pm Drake Hotel_ written in hasty handwriting. Robert stands and fishes out a leather notebook and black pen from his desk.

"Try writing Arthur, 6pm Drake Hotel."

The man looks up at Robert, but he takes the pen and quickly writes the words in loopy handwriting. It looks nothing like the scrawl on the piece of paper.

"So someone probably wrote this for you," Robert states, "meaning you're probably Arthur." He looks to Stacey who shrugs her agreement. Robert's eyes shift back to the man on his couch.

The man pockets his die with swift hands. "Do I look like an Arthur?"

Robert thinks of Sir Gawain and the Lady of the Lake, the stories his mother would tell before she passed on to what Robert always hoped was Avalon. "You do to me."

***

Arthur ends up sleeping in one of Robert's spare bedrooms. Stacey threatens and hisses at him, normal people don't end up beaten in side alleys, but Robert is persistent and in the end he gets what he wants.

As in most mornings, Robert wakes up to the sound of his Blackberry informing him it's time to start the day and that he has 58 unread messages. Robert ignores the blinking red light and pads his ways to the kitchen. It takes him a good minute to understand why there's a man in his kitchen.

"Good morning," Arthur says. He's still in his suit although he's taken off his jacket and shoes to sleep. "I was going to make breakfast."

But the cup broads are bare and the eggs outdated. Groceries have never been a priority for Robert.

"We can call out for breakfast," Robert says.

They end up with crepes from one of Robert's favorites. The delivery man knows him enough to congratulate Robert when he sees the order is for two. They gather around Robert's coffee table, the dining table much too modern to actually be used, eating fruit crepes and sipping at freshly squeezed orange juice.

"Your suit," Robert begins, "it's a John Lawrence Sullivan."

Arthur raises an eye brow and glances down at his tailored pants. "Is that good?"

Robert laughs a little into his coffee cup. "They're one of the best Japanesse fashion houses. They only have stores in Japan though."

"Which means I may have been in Japan recently." Arthur says. His brow furrows and eyebrows smooth together.

"Does that ring any bells?" Robert finally questions.

Arthur looks across the table to Robert's blue eyes. "Can't say it does."

***

Arthur eventually has to borrow some of Robert's clothes. It's an odd fit considering Arthur is a tad taller and all of Robert's clothing are tailor made to his specific proportions.

"We can buy you some more soon."

Arthur stops fidgeting with the bottom of a pair of Robert's trousers. They're chocolate brown and Arthur's paired it with a white button up and camel colored cardigan. Robert disappears into his closet and brings out a stripped pale blue tie to complete the outfit.

"Well, we know you know how to tie a double windsor knot," Robert says, watching the deft fingers loop and fold the silk.

"I won't be able to buy any clothes," Arthur reminds him. "No money."

No ID, no credit card, no life. Robert thinks about what it would be like to be able to start over.

***

Robert is able to ignore work for eight hours, enough time to learn that Arthur can put together a suit, make both a mojito and a martini and is fascinated by Robert's collection of art books.

"They're mostly just there for decoration," Robert admits. But Arthur is interested enough that Robert can sneak into his office and turn on his computer.

They all want something, Robert thinks, going through his list of emails, missed calls and blackberry messages. The decision to sell his father's company hadn't been easy, that's what he tells the business magazines and endless board members at least. But in reality, selling is the only logical option Robert can think of. The company is huge, three decades of swallowing up any competitor in it's path has made it bloated and invested in the status quo. Selling off the pieces, in small manageable chunks to investors, start ups or their competitors is truly the best option.

Robert just wishes everyone else could see that.

"Is this you?" Arthur stands in the doorway, holding the latest copy of Forbes.

"Yes," Robert states, wondering if Arthur is going to ask him all the inane questions the reporter had.

"Oh," Arthur sets down the magazine, gliding over to Robert and offering a cup of coffee. "Turns out I know how to work the coffee machine."

***

Arthur follows him to work because Robert doesn't know what else to do with him. Robert's already called a private investigator and his father's old friend in the police force, no businessman fitting Arthur's description has gone missing in the past month. The Deputy Commissioner had suggested Robert bring him in for DNA testing and to find out if his prints are in the system. Robert had balked at the idea and crossed it off his mental list.

Robert's office is on the top floor of a building his family has owned for sixty years. It's one of the assets Robert plans on keeping in his possession.

"You don't have to stick around with me all day," Robert states while they're in the express elevator.

Arthur shrugs in his navy blazer. "Maybe I can help."

***

By noon, Arthur has rearranged his schedule, cutting out two unnecessary cross country trips and allowing Robert to close the Yamamoto deal a week early. He's discovered an error in an inter-office memo which said montrez-moi instead of montrez le moi. Robert wants the French office to show him the new numbers, not mount him. Arthur's also chased off two reporters for the New York Times who managed to bluff their way through security. Somehow, he even managed to get Robert's printer, which despite being top of the line never seems to work, to actually collate and staple the papers for his 3 o'clock meeting.

Robert's old assistant threatens to quit if Arthur doesn't stop color coding everything. Robert lets her go and assures her a lovely reference.

***

"It's been a week," Stacey says "and he's still living at your house."

They sit across from one another at the city's latest hot spot, munching on their third of seven courses.

"He doesn't have any where to go." Robert attempts to explain while spearing a tomato. "He's been helping around the office and at the house. Don't you think that if he intended to rob me, he would have done so by now."

"Unless he means to steal something else?"

"If you remember correctly, my virginity was taken by Ms. Frost our second year of high school."

Stacey snorts at her arch rivals name. "I don't think barging into your room and demanding you take off your clothes and have sex can be considered a relationship."

Robert shrugs but gets his point across.

"Have you thought about the fact that someone could have sent him to you?" Stacey says, dropping her voice so that it just floats across their wine glasses.

Robert smiles and says, "Oh Stacey, how did you know I like them slim and organized?"

She throws her napkin at him, causing the maitre d' to raise an eyebrow and the other patrons to stop in their conversation and glance at them.

Robert laughs away the discomfort the attention causes him and tries to focus on his meal.

***

"Want to go to Paris?" Robert asks. He's been throwing the question around in his head for almost an hour, ignoring every word on the memo he's suppose to be reading. He'd planned on laying out all the reasons why Arthur should accompany him on the trip: Arthur speaks French, there's excellent tailors and coffee, Arthur already knows all of the terms of the deal and Robert is afraid he'll miss his roommate and assistant something terrible. Robert isn't planning on speaking that last one out loud.

Arthur looks up from where he's working on Robert's computer. "Now?"

"No," Robert says, "When I fly out next week, I want to make sure this deal goes smoothly."

"It will," Arthur says. "I'll change the hotel reservation. Getting me a passport might be tricky though."

"I know some people," Robert says and gets a warm feeling when Arthur's lips tilt into a smile.

***

Robert is almost positive he's going to be kissed underneath the Eiffel Tower. It's autumn and the discarded leaves whip at their feet every time the wind blows. They stop for a second, just a moment, to appreciate Paris and the iron tower. He's visited Paris more times than he can count: with his mother and then his father, on a school trip then business, with a friend and with a lover. Robert knows that from now on though the city will only be this moment, standing next to Arthur and watching Paris move around them.

The wind curls and Robert's hand goes to tighten his scarf. But there's already fingers already wrapped in the gray cashmere.

"Can't have you catching a cold," Arthur murmurs, lips pink and chapped by the weather.

"I'm pretty sure I'm falling in love with you," Robert says.

Arthur's lips smile but there's nothing in his eyes. "As your assistant, I have to advise against that."

There's a sense of falling, a brief moment that Robert can swear he's floating and then he's snapped awake, sleepy and bleary in his first class seat.

"We're experiencing some turbulence and the captain has decided to turn on the seat belt sign, please return to your seats."

"You all right?" Arthur turns around to ask, grabbing the papers he'd been glancing over to make sure they don't fall on the floor.

"Fine," Robert says.

Robert thinks that it's a pretty sad day when even your dreams turn against you.

***

They don't visit the Eiffel Tower.

***

"London wants to know if we can stop by their office?" Arthur asks, holding his hand over the bottom part of the phone.

They're suppose to leave tomorrow but London is just a quick jaunt from Paris versus a cross Atlantic flight from New York.

Robert nods his head yes and goes back to his own phone conversation. He's never had an assistant with a work ethic that matches his own. His past three had quit, with one suggested he seek a therapist for his 'inadequacy issues'. Robert used the back of the note to work out the numbers for the Kurokawa deal. Robert's the type of person where work is his life. Sometimes all of his life.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to concentrate on his own conversation and figure out how to acquire the permit they need without bribing local officials.

Arthur shifts the phone to his other ear and places his hand on the back of Robert's neck. Arthur's fingers move in tiny circles, ghosting over the bumps of his spine and tight tissue muscle. Robert fights the urge to shiver, the movements doing more to relax his muscles than an hour with his masseuse.

"Do you want to go out later?" Arthur whispers, "we are in Paris."

Robert should really review for their trip to London, brush up on names and business contacts. But Arthur's hand is on his neck and there's something like a turning point.

"We can't see Paris without seeing the Louvre."

Arthur smiles and goes back to his conversation.

Robert refuses to fall in love with his assistant. His assistant with amnesia, Robert reminds himself. His very attractive, very competent, knows how to tie a double Windsor knot and how to make coffee exactly the way Robert likes it, assistant.

Fischers do not fall.

***

Robert falls in love, really truly, completely fucked in love, in front of a Gustave Caillebotte.

"Notice the way he uses umbrella's to denote social status," Arthur says, tone hushed and respectful. Arthur's pointed hand, highlights the lines of movement and use of space. "How the sidewalk is positioned so that it looks like the viewer can walk into the painting." Arthur's face breaks into a smile, his eyes locked onto the painting. "Caillebotte uses the couple's eyes to lead us into the painting, they show us what to look at."

Robert manages to glance at the painting, trying to take in the massive impressionist artwork before his eyes find their way back to Arthur.

"Scholars have tried to ascertain what Calliboite meant by cutting off the top of the street light."

"What do you think he meant?" Robert questions. They stand in the middle of the painting, as if they're on Caillebotte's rainy Paris streets of the 1800's.

The smile grows wider, Arthur's face turning to Robert. "I think he just ran out of room."

***

Robert realizes it's a silly thing to fall in love over. But there's something about the moment that Robert knows he will never forget, no matter who Arthur really is or when Arthur finally decides to leave him.

Robert waits outside the gift shop, watching through the window as Arthur glances through post cards and umbrellas with the Mona Lisa on them. Robert had stepped out when the London office called his cell and said there was an urgent matter he had to attend to. Of course Robert doesn't know how urgent it could be when the office puts him on hold. Robert doesn't recognize the assistant's voice who he spoke with but he'll certainly have something to say to the young man when they visit tomorrow.

Naturally, Robert's eyes drift to Arthur. He's talking to someone, a pretty brunette girl with a scarf and artist pad under he arm. The conversation looks intense and Robert has to wonder what kind of argument Arthur has found himself in.

"Mr. Fischer?" a voice comes on the phone line.

"Yes?" Robert tries not to sound bored and impatient but he's never been very good at faking interest.

"My name is Jonathan. There are currently three men with guns within ten feet of you. They will not touch you unless I say so. But to keep it that way, you must do exactly as I say."

Robert doesn't bother asking if it's a joke. He can tell by the man's voice that he's serious.

"What do you want?" Robert asks instead.

"You will exit the museum using the door to your right. Walk along the pavilion to the road. There is a black van waiting for you, the door will be open."

"Where will you be taking me?"

The man on the other end laughs. "Now Mr. Fischer, it wouldn't be much of a kidnapping if I told you that."

Robert figures that it is his luck to fall in love and get kidnapped on the same day.

Robert is two steps away from the door when he hears Arthur's voice.

"Sorry, just wanted to grab a souvenir." Arthur hurries his footsteps to catch up to Robert, one hand reaching for his boss's shoulder.

"We know about your assistant," the stranger named Jonathan says. "It would be best for his health if you sent him away. He's wearing a very nice suit and it would be a shame to ruin it."

Something in Robert breaks loose. Being kidnapped has always been a remote possibility. It's why he has insurance and agents who check out his business partners but the thought of Arthur being hurt, because of an association with him, gives Robert enough steel to say, "I'm taking a private call. I'll meet you back at the hotel."

Arthur stops, the hand immediately leaving Robert's body.

"Right," Arthur says, as if Robert rebuffing him is a normal occurrence.

"I'm fine Arthur," Robert says, well aware Jonathan must be listening to their conversation. The man is probably watching as Robert says goodbye. "Just take care of yourself." Robert wills himself to leave. He turns on his heels, taking one step then two before he feels Arthur's body pressing into him.

"There's just one thing," Arthur says. "Something I wanted to give you." Arthur reaches into his pocket, pulling out a magnetic reproduction of Paris Street; Rainy Day.

"Get him to leave. Time is money and you're wasting both of them," Jonathan says from across the line.

"I really should be going," Robert barely manages to say.

"I know there's something wrong," Arthur states, still holding up the magnet as if he's showing it off to Robert. "Don't worry. I'll take care of it."

Robert's heart speeds up but everything else slows down. He sees the man, short and round and dressed in black, lumber over, one step seeming to take a million of Robert's heartbeats. Robert knows that the man is not a fellow tourist or museum security guard; he's dangerous and coming for Robert.

"You better-" is all the man gets out before Arthur turns with deft precision and jams his elbow into the man's jaw. Arthur twists the man's body to the ground, the snap of breaking bones standing out amongst the screams and shouts the altercation has started.

"Stay behind me," Arthur says, placing a light hand on Robert's back.

Robert follows without hesitating. Where else would he go?

As imagined, Jonathan won't let his prey slip away that easily though.

It's a woman, slim with her hair in a ponytail. She swings one long leg, trying for Arthur's stomach but Arthur deflects with a complicated maneuver Robert can't begin to articulate. From behind, strong arms encircle Robert and begin hustling him out the front door. He has the presences of mind for one shout before a meaty hand is clamped over his mouth. Museum guards watch and civilians scurry for cover. Robert panics as Arthur disappears behind the swinging glass doors. There's a car waiting, sleek and black and Robert honestly tries to fight back.

The car door swings open just as Robert feels a weight crashing into them. All three fall to the pavement. Robert's knee twists in the progress. Robert screams, staying on the ground as the beefy man and Arthur begin trading punches. Two more men jump out of the car and Robert wonders if this day will ever end.

Robert doesn't know if it's the stress or adrenaline, but there's something he hadn't noticed back in the museum lobby. Arthur's really, really good at this. He moves with an efficiency Robert's only seen in the boardroom: Arthur's been trained in things beyond accountancy and international taxes. Every movement counts and nothing is wasted. There's some serious implications that Robert's choosing to ignore for the moment.

Sirens wail in the background. Robert's stunned into just watching. The assailants go down one by one. Arthur takes his share of hits but for all the fury and brute strength the attackers seem to posses Arthur manages to stay one step ahead.

"It's okay, don't move," Arthur says when the attackers are subdued. He's bloody, really bloody with the suit a complete loss and his hair a mess. The fingers on his left hand look mangled but Arthur gently rests them on Robert's leg. "The police are going to come very soon. We're going to have to lie to them. Are you okay with that?"

Things are moving too fast. Robert can see the police cars jumping the curve and barreling their way past civilians.

"What do I say?"

"I'm your bodyguard," Arthur says. "You hired me after receiving threats when you decided to dissolve your father's company. I'm ex-military but you don't know the details. I was recommended to you by a business associate."

Robert doesn't know how much is remembered truth and what Arthur is just making up. Maybe that's another skill his assistant has.

"Give me your phone."

Robert hadn't realized he's still clutching the device. He hands it over to Arthur who slips it somewhere into his suit.

"Tell the police you lost it in the shuffle," Arthur instructs.

Robert nods. At that point it's too hard to speak over the sound of the sirens and orders to put their hands in the air. Arthur keeps eye contact until the police rush in and split them up.

***

The processing takes a thousand times longer than the actual altercation.

Robert repeats his story. He tells the police about Jonathan, about the threats that caused him to hire Arthur in the first place and how his assistant was able to take down five trained kidnappers. Around the third hour Robert's lawyer finally breaks in and demands his client be allowed to leave. He is the victim after all. It takes another two for Arthur to be released.

Arthur looks surprised when Robert's drinking a cup of a coffee and waiting outside the police station. Robert's knee injury isn't serious but Arthur has to help him hobble to the waiting car. Arthur has a hastily done brace on his hand and butterfly bandages along his forehead. They take a care back to the hotel that's endured in silence. They don't speak as they wait, messy and bloody, in the hotel lobby for the elevator back to their room. Once inside, Robert collapses onto the hotel couch. His eyes stay on Arthur who for perhaps the first time looks less than completely confident.

"I can leave once we get back to the States," Arthur says finally. "I'd go now but it might raise suspicions."

"You're not leaving me," Robert says, surprising even himself with the strength of his statement. "It'd look suspicious. And I'd have to hire three people to take your place."

Arthur smiles for just a moment. The nervous energy seems to leave Arthur's body and Robert may not have said everything he wants to but Arthur won't be leaving in the morning.

"I should get you to bed," Arthur states and Robert feels his cheeks bloom bright pink.

It feels almost normal for Arthur to help Robert off the couch. But what isn't normal, and Robert will think he imagined it because of the pain killers and faded adrenaline come morning, is Arthur wrapping an arm around his waist. The long fingers on his hips aren't part of the routine. And there's certainly never been a night where Arthur takes Robert's chin in his bandaged hand and kisses him goodnight.

***

There's a history now in everything that Arthur does. Robert doesn't know if he hadn't noticed before or simply hasn't cared to think about how Arthur knew five languages, advanced accounting and how to make a perfect omelet. Maybe Robert wants to believe that Arthur sprang, fully formed from some deities head, simply to feel the void in Robert's life. Robert doesn't think that's too much to ask from the universe.

"I'm going to grab a shower," Arthur says, dropping his briefcase by the front door.

Robert nods. "When you get out we can go over the Tokyo deal." They've just arrived back from London, heading to England to see the offices even after the Louvre ordeal, but there's always more business to be done.

Arthur heads into the room that's become his, shedding his blazer as he walks. Robert watches as the gentle material glides off the pointed shoulders. The act reveals only a button up and grey vest but it doesn't fail to get Robert's heart beating and certain parts of his anatomy interested.

Robert can handle dismantling his father's company. He can take almost being kidnapped and having to deal with all the red-tape aftermath. But what he can not handle is a kiss from his assistant that ended entirely too soon. Despite being together almost 24 hours a day, they don't talk about anything that happened. Arthur hasn't mentioned any returned memories or how he knew how to take down attackers two times his size. Arthur also hasn't mentioned anything about the kiss or the prolonged touches he's given Robert in meetings, on the flight home and basically everywhere but Robert's bedroom.

Robert runs a hand through his hair and goes to look at his empty fridge. He spends a couple of minutes hoping food will magically appear in his cupboards before giving in and going for the delivery menus.

There's the sound of Arthur's door opening and Robert calls out, "What do you want, Chinese or Thai?"

Robert doesn't get an answer. Instead he gets demanding fingers wrapping around his waist, turning him around until Robert is confronted with a wet and naked except for a towel assistant.

Robert can't stop himself from asking, "what?"

"Realized I forgot something." And then hands are pulling, lips are colliding and clothes are coming off. Robert's fingers slip across Arthur's back, trying to find any sort of purchase to pull him closer. It's a stumble to the bedroom, both of them falling on Robert's bed with the towel lost somewhere along the way.

"We need," but Robert doesn't know what he needs when Arthur starts biting and sucking along his neck. He tilts his head, giving Arthur all the access he desires. Arthur's fingers slip from Robert's waist to his hair, tugging in a way that Robert never knew could drive him crazy.

"I think," Robert keeps trying to articulate things but his thought process keeps getting cut off. He doesn't have lube or condoms and Arthur might want to know that. His assistant however seems to be more interested in licking every inch of Robert's skin. As Arthur advances downwards, Robert just repeats, "there, there, there," instead of anything else.

***

3 months later

Arthur smiles at the doorman on his way out. The day is bright and warm and Arthur can feel the sunshine through the canopy of leaves as he walks. His phone is back at the apartment. Nothing is with him except the set of keys Robert gave him months ago. His destination is a little far for walking but Arthur doesn't mind the exercise. Robert is stuck in an office somewhere with the blinds closed and various people trying to talk him out of selling what is his. Robert will ignore them all. And then he will come home and he and Arthur will have very enthusiastic sex around the apartment before calling for Thai.

Walk to the corner, turn left, wait for the light, jump over a puddle, turn right, dodge the dog, Arthur body knows the destination and takes him there. With the cafe in view, Arthur takes a second to slick back his hair and steady his breathing before walking inside.

"You're looking good," Cobb greets, standing up to awkwardly hug Arthur across the table. "It's been awhile."

Arthur takes the seat across from Cobb. "How are the kids?"

"Good, Phillipa and James say hello. They want to see their Uncle Arthur when you get the chance."

Arthur's smile promises soon. "And business?"

"Although legal dreamwork is inherently less interesting than our stuff. It does come with the safety of knowing I won't end up bloody and beaten in an alley somewhere. Of course there are some of us who planned it that way."

Arthur smirks. "How is everyone?"

"Fine. Although Eames says you owe him a new jacket for the one your blood ruined."

"Eames got to hit me and brandishes a tire iron. I'm sure he's just fine. Besides, it was a hideous purple thing. I did him a favor."

Cobb acknowledges that's true before changing topics and asking bluntly, "how long do you plan on keeping this charade up?"

"How is this any different than what we do in dreams?"

Cobb could write Arthur a book on why it's different but he thinks it would be the one book Arthur wouldn't be interested in. "They tell me I'm the one with the guilt complex."

Arthur laughs and his face relaxes. He looks calmer, more at ease then the time he was working with Cobb.

"I figure you wouldn't call a meeting unless you needed something," Cobb says.

"Just one thing," Arthur states. He slips over a bloodied cell phone. "What do you know about a kidnapper named Jonathan?"


End file.
